


Not Yet

by wigglebox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Healing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, hurt!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5213972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healing doesn't fix everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Yet

He thinks of Roy first.

Roy le Grange with the cold, clammy hands. The poor bastard who got played by his insane and desperate wife. Roy le Grange who should have been dead. All of his “miracles” who should have been dead. 

How Dean should have been dead. 

That’s what he thinks of every time Cas goes in to heal whatever injury, big or small, that Dean has. 

Dean braces himself for the cold; for the sickly feeling afterwards. For the feeling of anxiety to bubble deep in the pit of his stomach, implying something just went terribly wrong. 

Those feelings never come. Or they used to not come. 

Now, however, as Dean and Sam arrive back at the bunker, he is reminded of how he felt 10 years ago in that muddy tent. Not really worthy of a heal. 

Maybe he was killing himself slowly. 

Dean mumbled something about needing to get the “Deputy Dumbass” stank off of him and stumbled over to the showers. He knew that Cas could fix him right up but he _couldn’t -_

The water spray turned on and Dean peeled off his bloody clothing. He hissed as he bumped against the sink. A bruise the size of Canada extended from his hip to his ribs. It looked beautiful enough but he knew that it would hurt him for a long while. It would slow him down. 

He reached into the shower to turn the water to cold, hoping to lessen the severity of the injury. 

The whole ride home, Dean had struggled with what he agreed to. To let Cas heal him. 

His thoughts strayed toward two different paths and as he stood under the water, they came roaring back to the forefront of his mind. 

He spent almost two years feeling less and less. The injuries felt good instead of bad, and they didn’t do anything but invoke more rage in him. Dean didn’t _hurt_. He didn’t feel human. 

But now, as he pressed his fingertips gingerly into the deepening bruise, brushing over a barely healed scrape on his side, he found he relished the pain. It reminded him that he was more human now than he had been in a long while. Cas healing him would take that away, and that thought filled him with panic.

On the other hand, the pain was something he wanted, and he was in no position to want anything. He didn’t deserve to want anything or be treated to something. Dean was not allowed to want _anything._

The image of Cas laying on the floor, bloody, beaten and terrified of death, kept flashing in his mind. Grimacing at the memory, Dean clenched a fist ready to punch the tiled wall in front of him. But he didn’t. After all, it would just be more pain.

The rest of his shower passed with no thought. Dean forced himself to keep his mind blank and whenever he felt anxiety build up, he worked to concentrate on the shampoo. It felt silly, but it worked. 

He finished his shower, patted himself dry and slipped on a robe. There was a deep ache in his bones and as he left the bathroom, found that it hurt to even turn around and walk. 

The hallway was quiet, other than a mild snore from Sam’s room. Dean stopped to try and hear if there was distant “tack tack tack” of a laptop from Cas. Silence. 

Dean moved to his room and found his door ajar. Through the small opening he saw a pair of legs resting over his bed. Dean couldn’t even sigh before he went in, otherwise the pain would be telling. He squared his shoulders the best he could, tightened his robe a bit more, and walked in. 

Cas sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, flipping through a book Dean picked up months prior to read, but never got around to it. Something about haunted castles in Germany. 

Neither of them said anything as Dean went to his closet to pull out more comfortable clothing. He could feel Cas eyes burning holes into the back of his head, and self-consciously tried to flatten his damp hair.

More silence. 

Dean finally turned around and tossed his clothes on the bed. He kept his eyes down. 

“You looking for a chippendales or something” Dean asked _stupid why did you say that._

Cas shook his head and went back to the book. 

“Sam told me to fix you up.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. He felt the need to inform Cas that making himself at home in another person’s bedroom to confront them after a shower isn’t something guys -

Instead, he sighed. A mistake. 

Dean hissed in pain and grabbed his side in reflex. Cas’s eyes narrowed as his stood up, watching Dean recover and regain his composure. Dean backed away. 

“No.”

Cas stopped, his face twisting into annoyance and frustration. But Dean held out his hand. 

“Seriously. I’m okay. Just a small bruise on my ribs. I’ve handled worse.”

Cas lifted his head up and rolled eyes eyes and walked to the other side of the room. Dean kept his eyes on the floor. 

“How bad are you, really?” Cas asked, crossing his arms like a stern mother. Dean almost smiled.

“You realize,” Cas continued “I understand what you’re doing.”

Dean shook his head, “There’s a lot of shit going on in my head right now buddy, _I_ don’t even understand what’s going on right now.”

“Sam told me about that faith healer ten years ago… Roy?” 

The pit of anxiety started to return. Dean swallowed hard. 

“He told me how you went after your hunts hard after… for weeks. You had bruises and fractures and you couldn’t even see at one point because your eyes were almost swollen shut.”

Dean kept his eyes on the ground. The memory of cold hands from Roy, from the reaper… feeling like he didn’t deserve to be alive. Wishing subconsciously that maybe this hunt he’ll be mortally wounded again, and right the wrong. It was worse than when his father made a deal. That was one life. That was his life and his choice. The person who died to save Dean and all those people didn’t — 

Dean lifted his gaze and Cas was back in front of him again.

“Let me help you.”

Dean couldn’t bring himself to speak. He can’t —

“I don’t deserve it”, he choked out. 

Cas moved his head to catch Dean’s gaze. It was the first time Dean looked him directly in the eye for any extended period of time. 

Bloody, beaten, terrified of death Cas — 

Cas understood. “I think this talk will be better a different time. Not yet.”

Dean nodded in agreement. Not yet. 

“Okay. But… can you leave some of the soreness? It helps.” 

Cas didn’t question it. Dean knew he’d understand on at least the basic level. 

They didn’t speak after that. No words exchanged when Dean wiggled out of the left side of his robe to reveal the bruise. Nothing was said as familiar hands brought a sweeping, familiar, warm sensation radiating to his bones. No Roy, no reaper, no crazy psycho bitch. No cold, no fear, no sick sinking feelings. 

They’ll talk at some point. Dean will work it out at a time in the future. They’ll put everything on the table. 

Just… not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic had been bouncing around in my head for 2 weeks. I haven't written anything in general in a very long time, and as far as SPN fanfics go... well I wrote something once but it was terrible and we're not going to count that. 
> 
> I'm very happy with this. It's the first fic I've ever posted in any fandom that I loved. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who helped me or volunteered to help me! They were fantastic, and very helpful. I learned a lot of them! - trimcoast, cut-sams-hair, mkhunterz, and jensen-fuckles.  
> You guys ROCK! <3


End file.
